Hubby and I generally eat dinner late, perched with legs outstretched on our comfortable recliners watching something good on Netflix or Hulu. When finished, after unwisely gobbling down dinner on an empty stomach, the pang of hunger still plagues me.
Hubby and I generally eat dinner late, perched with legs outstretched on our comfortable recliners watching something good on Netflix or Hulu. When finished, after unwisely gobbling down dinner on an empty stomach, the pang of hunger still plagues me. Based on the theory that the stomach does not immediately recognize that it is full, the hunger still lurks, and I look around for something for dessert. Hubby never fails to have a package of cookies stashed somewhere, either on the table next to the couch, or on top of the mini-fridge, or hiding under his underwear in the bottom drawer of the bureau. Brandishing a package of fake Oreos or fake Caramel Delight Girl Scout Cookies purchased at the Dollar Tree, we both carefully choose a few cookies to munch on. Still not satisfied, I plead “Just one more!” as my hand reaches in to grab a handful.
Watching shows on Hulu or Netflix has the added convenience of number one, no commercials and number two, being able to watch more than one episode of a series at a time. This is especially entertaining when one episode ends in a cliffhanger and we do not have to wait a whole week to see the resolution. It never fails that around bedtime a show ends with an enticing premise of something to come. Even though my body would normally be curling up with a pillow and blanket at that particular time, my curiosity always pleads “Just one more!” Then we go to bed well after midnight and I am tired in the morning.
I am not ashamed to admit that when using the bathroom in the morning, I will often sit on the toilet for way more time than needed while playing games on my phone. The seat is warm and cozy, and, having just woken up after going to bed too late, my energy level is just starting to crank alive. Because critical thinking is not yet alert, my rote game of choice is solitaire. Cascading number after number in quick succession is fun AND addicting. Sometimes, when I have finished a game my fingers scream out “Just one more time!” and before I know it only three or four minutes are left until I have to leave for work. (This activity does explain my disheveled make-up-less, bleary-eyed appearance at work every morning.)
Last Saturday I coordinated a clothing sale at the thrift shop for my church. Because we are only open one Saturday a month, I purchased balloons to highlight the sale sign that sits on the sidewalk outside the shop. Going into the Dollar Tree, I initially planned to buy three balloons, but when I gazed upon the colorful messengers of happiness, “Just one more” came to mind. I emerged with as many balloons as my $10 bill could purchase. Because I currently drive Hubby’s work van, the balloons had to sit on the floor in the front cab next to the driver’s seat. Although tied strategically around a bottle of Diet Coke, the balloons still swayed back and forth, a real challenge when I had to look to the right to see oncoming cars. I was driving with a bona fide obstructed view and had to part them and peer through. Perhaps purchasing so many balloons had not been a wise choice.
Hubby is patient with my constant demands to have just one more. He became a father more times than he may have preferred because I always wanted one more child. If not a child of our own, (either naturally born or adopted,) then I would plead for one more foster baby right up until the time when my motherly instincts could take no more.
This New Year’s, I will make a resolution to never again say “Just one more.” I would eat less junk food, get more sleep, use the bathroom like a normal person, and never again obstruct my driving view with balloons. I would be slimmer, healthier, more rested, and look fabulous after putting on make-up and styling my hair in the morning. I COULD start now, but I need just one more month …